A Sherlock
by DemonBurrito
Summary: Johnlock! After John and Sherlock hook up unexpectedly, what happens? One of my ideas of the aftermath. Rated M, just in case, not exactly smut
1. Chapter 1

John lay in Sherlock's bed, panting hard while his mind raced. How had this happened? Here he was, naked in his flatmate's bed, feeling so completely- absolutely, completely- satisfied and very confused.

He hadn't even known he was _attracted _to Sherlock until just an hour ago, yet here they were, still sweaty because bloody hell, he had just fucked Sherlock and it had been amazing.

Now that the heat of the moment had come and gone, John didn't know what to do. Should he say something? Surely he should say something, because while that had been the best sex of his life, it had also been the most unexpected. How had this happened, he wondered again. He really should say something. _Anything_.

"Tea?" he heard himself ask.

"Yes, John, thank you," Sherlock replied with a voice John hadn't heard before. It was somewhere in between his normal commanding baritone and the softer, pleading cries John had just heard while he on his knees between Sherlock's long legs. It had been a hell of a turn on to hear Sherlock saying "Please, John, please, please," actually begging for John to stop teasing him and suck him off already.

John started into the kitchen to put the kettle on. He wondered briefly if he should put on his pants but dismissed the notion. 'Why bother? He's seen all of me now anyway.'

While the kettle heated he tidied up a bit. It was a habit, more to keep his hands busy than anything else, and he knew it was futile as long as Sherlock was still using the kitchen as a laboratory. He could do nothing to clear his head, still spinning and full of jumbled thoughts about Sherlock, his mate, Sherlock, the man in the next room who had just moaned his name, Sherlock, the cleverest arsehole in the world, and what the hell did the word 'love' really mean anyway?

Tea made, John returned to where the detective lay in bed, still naked and leaning against the headboard, and silently handed him a mug. He sat down, feet on the floor with his back to Sherlock, suddenly (irrationally, he thought,) embarrassed to be nude. He thought he'd seen Sherlock's hungry eyes rove over his body as he handed him the mug, down his chest to his stomach, but he couldn't be sure. Perhaps he'd imagined it. Perhaps he'd imagined this whole thing.

"Not exactly how I'd thought you'd be in bed," Sherlock rumbled. His voice- back to normal now- finally pulled John out of his own head and into the here and now. He turned to look at his friend.

"Oh?" was all he could manage at first. Then, as the sentence rolled through his brain again, "Have you- um, have you been fantasizing about me then?"

"Yes, I always thought I'd be the one taking charge of the situation when it came." John rolled his eyes, noting that Sherlock had said when, not if. "Your way is much better," Sherlock continued, and John could practically hear the manic grin in his voice.

"Um, Sherlock-" John started, but was cut off.

"Of course, if you'd like, next time we can do things a bit differently. Although you being the one in control was incredibly-"

"Next time?" John interrupted.

"Yes, John next time, that is what I said," said Sherlock, sitting all the way up. He moved just a few inches closer, and this time John knew for certain he was not mistaken. The look Sherlock was giving him now was hungry, positively lustfull.

"How do you know that I would want a next time?" John asked. Quietly, in his head, he asked 'But I do, don't I? Or do I?'

Sherlock laughed. He moved until he was right behind John, one leg on either side of his hips, and John could feel the detective's returning erection hardening against his back.

Sherlock's lips moved to his neck and kissed, then ghosted up to his ear. "Because," he whispered, "you haven't stopped smiling." John realized he was right.

Just like always.

Damn.


	2. Chapter 2

Somehow the conversation had devolved. John wasn't sure how, but it had been twisted round until they were now arguing over the shopping list. He considered this a positive, because this was a conversation he knew how to have.

"No, Sherlock, we need more tea, and definitely more milk, and here's an idea- some food!"

"I'm thinking."

"You haven't got a case!"

"Shouldn't stop me thinking."

Frustrated, John walked right up to his flatmate. Sherlock was reclining on the couch, eyes closed, fingers templed under his chin.

"Just go and get the shopping! Just milk, just please go outside, down to the shop, and bring back milk."

"You go. I'm thinking."

John gave up. He never won this argument, he wasn't sure why he bothered anymore. Just as he was grabbing his coat, he heard Sherlock's mobile. Sure enough, a heartbeat later, Sherlock was up and grabbing his own overcoat and scarf, looking like a child at Christmastime.

"A case!" he bellowed, and was gone. "Come on, John!"

o0o

The door to 221B swung open and the two walked up the stairs to their flat. John was exhausted; the murder case had kept them busy for three days. He had had time to eat twice in that span and sleep for only short stretches at a time. He was covered in grime and sweat. Sherlock, who didn't seem to miss the sleep or food, was recounting each detail of the case; ways he'd been right and ways he could be right faster next time. There was no thought of being wrong in his mind.

John headed straight to the shower. He desired nothing more than a shower, followed by a light meal- 'Maybe just a snack, I'm too tired to deal with cooking,' he thought- and then a long, blessed sleep. The soapy water was like euphoria to his tired muscles. As he washed, he thought over the last few days- not the case, as surely Sherlock was doing, but of Sherlock himself. He had said nothing, done nothing that indicated that he even remembered that he had just shagged his flatmate. A few times John saw him with the exact expression he'd had on when John first kissed him, but it was only the thrill of the mystery unfolding. He'd begun to wonder whether he was right in the first place, and it really had been in his imagination.

Just as he'd begun to really relax, the shower curtain opened and in stepped Sherlock. He had already undressed.

"Sherlock! Can't you wait a few minutes? I'm trying to shower!" he protested. In reply, Sherlock just raised his eyebrows. He pressed in, suddenly dominating the confined space. He stepped under the spray, face up and eyes closed. His dark hair became soaked and plastered to his head while rivulets of water washed his body clean.

John was frozen in time, eyes level with Sherlock's chest. His eyes were glued to the sight, but he didn't let himself look further down than Sherlock's chest. For his part, Sherlock seemed to have forgotten John was even there, although that was impossible; surely he could feel John's breath on his skin, feel the rate increasing. John watched as he carried on soaping himself until his hand, of its own volition, found its way to Sherlock's hip.

Sherlock's eyes flew open to look right into John's eyes. His hand was gripping the detective's side, his thumb placed right in the hollow of his hip, but still Sherlock said nothing. For a moment, John thought he'd been right the first time- had it all been an elaborate daydream?

He steeled his nerves and pulled the taller man down to his lips. Sherlock bent willingly. John kissed him, hesitantly; and then his doubts flew out the window because this was Sherlock's kiss, of course he couldn't cook this up in his head, there was nothing else in the world like this. He deepened the kiss and felt rather than heard the small moan coming from Sherlock. Their bodies, like magnets, were pulled together so each could feel the other's skin, wet and hot. Sherlock's lips felt like fire, his tongue being surprisingly coy with John's. Their hands found and explored each others bodies. John traced the curve of Sherlock's back, the dips and rises of his arms. He could feel Sherlock's dick rising and realized he had been grinding into him. He couldn't get enough. He could touch this man, kiss this genius forever- but then the water went cold.

With a shout, both jumped from the shower, still holding on- Sherlock's arm around John's shoulders, John's hand on Sherlock's back. They shared a glance and toweled off quickly.

"Bed?" John asked. Sherlock nodded and led the way to John's room. He collapsed onto the mattress unceremoniously. John came up behind him, admiring the pale skin and long legs of his companion. As he got into bed, the days without sleep or food caught up with him. He looked at Sherlock and found him already dozing off. 'Apparently he _does_ need sleep every so often,' John thought. He climbed under the covers and turned off the lamp. Settling in, he felt Sherlock throw him arm around him and pull him close. He could feel slow, even breaths at the back of his neck and the warmth of Sherlock's body covered him. It was the most comfortable thing he'd ever experienced. He heard the low rumble of Sherlock's voice, half slurred because the detective was already drifting off.

"Inevitable." And if John's curiousity hadn't been spent chasing a murderer across the country for days, he would have said "Sorry, _what's_ inevitable?" But as it was, he was too tired to think, too sleepy to even move his lips enough to say good night.


	3. Chapter 3

Thirteen hours later, a soft tickling feeling on his neck caused John to slowly find his way back to the waking world. The sun had just started to set, making the light through his window a soothing shade of blue. His stomach growled painfully- he had not eaten last night (this morning?) as he'd meant to. He turned onto his back and gave a shout. Sherlock was mere centimeters above his face, eyes wide open, his curls just barely touching his skin.

Without a word, he could tell what Sherlock was doing- examining, calculating, deducing facts. He felt Sherlock's hand on his wrist and knew he noticed the increase in pulse rate. There was probably a slight reddening of his cheeks and the detective would see that too. He would put everything he saw together and know exactly what John was feeling. There was nothing he could hide from this man.

"You're surprised."

"I am. You're still here. You don't usually sleep this long, even after a marathon case." John stated.

"I didn't sleep this long, you did. I awoke hours ago. Went downstairs, finished my experiment on the pig's ears- wonderfully conclusive results, I'll tell you all about it later- and only returned ten minutes ago to observe you. I'm glad to see that you're awake, I was getting very bored."

John smiled. Waking up with Sherlock in his face was not unpleasant, as he would've expected it to be. Sherlock's lips were very close to his... 'No,' John told himself. 'Last time you thought about his lips you forgot to eat, and now you definitely need food. Get up, go get breakfast.' Even still, the idea of kissing Sherlock almost won out over breakfast. Almost, but his stomach was screaming in hunger. He sat up and scanned the room for his dressing gown. Finding it, he put it on and he and Sherlock went downstairs for breakfast.

John made cereal- he needed something quick and easy. He also made Sherlock a bowl, although he knew that at least half of it would be wasted. The kitchen table was slightly cleaner than usual- he guessed because Sherlock had finished with at least one experiment. It would be replaced by lunch with another, equally creepy experiment, so John took the rare chance to sit at the table and eat. Sherlock leaned against the counter, next to his bowl, hardly even noticing it after the first few bites. The silence wasn't awkward at all; rather, it was companionable, and John was used to it after living with a self-proclaimed sociopath for so long.

His own thoughts- bills needed to be paid next week, groceries were low (as always)- rather suddenly turned to his friend. He knew that things had changed in their relationship, but did Sherlock? Aside from the snogging last night and the up-close observations this morning, he had acted no different. John wanted to ask him. His experience with women told him to have certain rules of a relationship laid out as quickly as possible, but were his experiences even useful this time? Sherlock was a completely different animal.

John, however, wasn't. He opened his mouth and closed it again. He frowned. He got up and washed out his bowl, thinking about how to start this conversation. He opened his mouth, and this time, words actually came out.

"You said something, last night, falling asleep. Do you remember?" he asked.

Sherlock didn't answer right away. He took another bite of his half-forgotten cereal and chewed slowly. John was starting to wonder if he'd even heard him when he answered.

"Yes, of course I remember," he said, and his voice was loud and brisk, as if he were explaining one of his revelations. "I told you that it was inevitable and you're wondering now 'What was inevitable?' Of course, I was talking about us and the obvious attraction between us. 'But, Sherlock, there was no obvious attraction between us.' But you are wrong, it was obvious, and it has been there since the day we met. When you handed me your phone on the first day I noticed that you were an army doctor, problems with your sister, psychosomatic limp, et cetera, but I also noticed that you blushed when I looked at you and gulped when our hands brushed together as you handed me your phone. By the time I'd left the room your palms had grown sweaty, your pupils dilated. You moved in with me right away. You probably noticed nothing, but of course I saw everything. I knew that you wanted me then, before you knew yourself. I knew I wanted you because I could feel it. What has happened between us now has been a long time coming. Frankly, I was starting to wonder if you would ever realize the desire was even there until you finally came to your senses and kissed me four days ago."

He finished his speech in less than a minute, during which time he had moved considerably closer to the doctor- was in fact, standing right in front of him. His eyes were bright and fixed on John. Without warning, he swooped down and planted a kiss on John's lips. His arms encircled the shorter man and pulled him close. When John felt Sherlock's teeth nip at his lower lip, he sighed and fell into the embrace. For several agonizingly perfect moments all John knew was Sherlock's kiss, Sherlock's hands on him, the smell of Sherlock. When Sherlock finally pulled away they were both gasping, lust overtaking them both. Sherlock flashed him a small grin. "And now you can't deny it," he whispered.

"I'm not gay," John said emphatically, as if proving Sherlock wrong was even possible.

"I never said you were attracted to men, John, just one man."

John considered this, eyebrows together. He knew he couldn't deny his feelings anymore. "Okay," he muttered, "but what does that make us now? We can't just be friends anymore, Sherlock, this is different," he explained. Sherlock looked at him as if he'd just asked an exceedingly simple question.

"We're Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. What other label do you need?"

"Yes, we are that, but we are also- what? Am I your boyfriend? Are you- bloody hell, I can't call you my boyfriend," he said, running his hand through his short hair.

"Oh, details! Details are boring." Sherlock exclaimed confidently, throwing his hands into the air as if to say _This is ridiculous._

John spluttered. "Details are boring? Details are all you care about! Details are literally how you make your living!" He exclaimed.

Sherlock folded his arms and rested once more against the counter, side by side now with John. "Well, this particular detail is unimportant. If you don't want to call me your boyfriend, don't. Just call me your Sherlock, there's that sorted. You don't have a boyfriend, you have a Sherlock."

John laughed a bit. Sherlock joined in, although he did it more because John was laughing than because he got what was so funny to John. "Yes, yes, that's quite good," chuckled John. "That's really the only word out there to describe you- a 'Sherlock.' All right, so I've got a Sherlock. What does that mean, then, have you got a John?" he asked smiling.

Sherlock really did laugh this time. "No, John, I'm definitely gay, always have been. I've got a boyfriend." John nodded at this. '_Strange, to have Sherlock Holmes call you his boyfriend._' Sherlock smiled at him. "My very first boyfriend, in fact."

Somehow this news didn't surprise John. "Well, you are my very first Sherlock, so I guess we're both breaking new ground here."

Sherlock reached down a bit to grab John's hand. He didn't hold it, just picked it up and brought it under the light to see it better. John let him look at his hand without asking why. He knew why. Sherlock wanted to know everything. He was filing it all away- John's fingerprint patterns, the radius of his palm, the exact shade of his skin, everything about this particular body part- all being put into its own room in his Mind Palace. John knew he should get used to this sort of abrupt observation. Sherlock would probably insist on doing it with all of his body. John relaxed and just enjoyed the feel of his Sherlock's fingers running over his.

After Sherock was finished, he turned to John. For a long time, they just looked at each other. There were smiles on both faces. Wordlessly, John took Sherlock's hand, interlaced his fingers with his own, and led him into the living room. Once there, he kissed Sherlock- _his_ Sherlock, passionately, just as he should have the first time- and would have, if he'd had known at all what was actually going on. He pushed Sherlock onto the couch, fell onto it himself, and began the long process of learning everything. Everything about Sherlock's body, his wants, he wanted to know it all. _'I hope I never do; I never want this to end,' _he thought.

He chuckled again, with his lips still on Sherlock's. He felt Sherlock begin to ask why, and answered before Sherlock could pull away.

"I've got a 'Sherlock,' and it's about bloody time too."


End file.
